Ignorance and Apathy
by Kyogre
Summary: DEAD AU: The other way things could have gone. That Halloween night, the Longbottoms were killed, but their son... lived. Neville, Harry, Hermione and how this one choice changed everything.
1. that 1 time

  
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Harry Potter:   
Ignorance and Apathy   
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Chapter One: That one time.   
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, the Hogwarts Express, and the Sorting Hat. 

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When he and his grandmother had arrived at King's Cross on September 1st, Neville had been ready to fall apart. His stomach had been wiggling oddly, and his hands had begun to shake. Overall, he seemed about to rattle himself to pieces. 

But really, who could blame him? 

Neville Longbottom was no ordinary boy. Maybe he should have been used to this fact, having been anything but ordinary for the last ten years, but his grandmother had kept him fairly sheltered since his parents' death, only rarely taking him outside the family manor, for short, controlled meetings with the press. 

But now, he was heading off to Hogwarts, the most famous and prestigious school of magic in the world. 

The world, Neville thought nervously, seemed set to tear him to pieces and sell them as souvenirs. 

(He could imagine it easily: "And here we have a whole finger, a rare find indeed. Now going for ten thousand. Own a genuine piece of the Boy-Who-Lived! Guaranteed effective against evil wizards, vampires and werewolves!" Neville shuddered at the thought…) 

The train station had been packed. Most of the people were Muggles, who paid Neville no attention whatsoever. Some, however, were wizards (and witches), and they stared openly as soon as they identified him. 

Neville had wanted to shrink until he was as small as a rat and run off to hide in some sewer. His grandmother, no doubt knowing what was going through his mind, kept a firm grip on the boy's arm. 

Somehow, he ultimately made it onto the Hogwarts Express with only two new bruises. He couldn't remember the details; it was like his mind had shut off as he entered the busy station. (That always happened in crowds.) Neville was certain his grandmother had said something about upholding the family honor and doing his parents proud… 

But he hadn't been listening. By the time the two Longbottoms had stepped inside the barrier to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, word had gotten out of his arrival. The pointing and the excited murmurs followed him wherever he went after that. 

As the Hogwarts Express raced toward its destination, Neville worked his way in the opposite direction, moving from the somewhere near the middle of the train toward the back, until he was in the second to last compartment. Along the way, everyone from fellow first years to towering seventh years had gawked and whispered and giggled and snickered when he tripped and nearly lost his wand. 

How was he supposed to go to school with these people? They expected so much, but he wasn't anything special at all. 

Hands shaking, eyes stinging in a familiar way, Neville yanked open the door to the last compartment and stumbled in, slamming it shut behind him. No one jeered as he sniffled and leaned back against the much-abused door. Maybe luck had finally decided to take his side, leaving this one compartment empty… 

But, really, he should have known better. His luck had been all used up ten years ago. When his vision had cleared and he looked around, Neville felt his insides turn to ice. He wasn't alone at all. A boy, another first year apparently, was sitting motionlessly by the window, watching the fields rush by. 

He wasn't looking at Neville at all. 

Neville blinked twice, not believing his eyes. When he walked into a room, everyone always watched him as if they couldn't look away. He could always feel the weight of their stares and expectations. For someone to simply look at something else was… unheard of, incredible. 

… Maybe the other boy hadn't noticed him come in. That was, of course, the reasonable explanation. But… he'd slammed the door so hard that the glass rattled in its frame. Surely, the ordinary sounds of the train couldn't have covered that. 

As Neville pondered his situation and tried to think of what to do next, the door behind him slid open sharply. Before he had even fully registered what was happening, someone practically ran into the compartment, straight into Neville. There was a surprised squeak from the new figure and a short yell from Neville as both fell gracelessly to the floor in a tangle of limbs. 

The feeling of lying on a hard flat surface with the promise of several bruises on various limbs was nothing new to Neville. No matter how many instructors his grandmother hired, he could never seemed to become even vaguely coordinated and tripped on his own feet with depressing regularity. However, the feeling of someone else on top of him on a hard flat surface was something new. The feeling of being only partially at fault for the accident was definitely new as well. 

The mysterious new-comer was a girl, one with a lot of hair. (Neville could feel several strands tickling his face.) He didn't know whether to blush bright red or blanch stark white… 

For a moment neither moved. Then, abruptly coming to her senses, the girl jumped away. Both of them quickly scurried to opposite sides of the compartment. The girl glared; Neville cowered. 

"Be careful! You shouldn't just stand in the doorway like that," she berated. "It's really dangerous, you know!" 

Neville nodded quickly and tried to back away further, into the wall. The girl huffed before standing quickly and brushing off her robes. She seemed to consider something for a moment, then looked down at him with a frown. 

"You could apologize," she told him flatly, but continued before he could do so, "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way." 

Granger watched him expectantly. 

Blushing, Neville scrambled to his feet. "Sorry! I'm really sorry! And… um… I'm Neville." He winced mentally, imagining all the possible reactions to that. Would she gawk and giggle, or would she sneer? 

"Neville Longbottom? Are you really?" said Granger. "I know all about you, of course – got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_." 

Neville blanched. He'd know, of course, that what had happened was a Big Deal, but Gran had never mentioned that he was in books… 

"O-oh…" he managed to stammer, blinking dazedly. 

"Goodness, didn't you know? I've been reading non-stop since I got my letter. I'm the first in my family with magic," her voice seemed oddly forceful here, Neville noticed, like when Gran discussed his interest in Herbology, like saying 'it's nothing to be ashamed of, no matter what anyone thinks', "so I was ever so surprised when I got my letter. I've been trying to learn everything I can about the wizarding world. Don't want to fall behind the wizard-born, and all. I just hope it'll be enough," she concluded, with maybe a hint of bitterness. Or was that his imagination? 

Abruptly, she turned to the third person in the compartment. Neville started, only now remembering about the dark-haired boy, who was now watching them calmly, with a hint of disinterest. How long had he been doing that? 

"What about you? What's your name? Are you Muggle-born? And do either of you know what house you'll be in?" she asked rapid-fire, without pausing for breath. 

The other boy blinked, at once a sign of both surprise and amusement. (How did he do that? Neville wondered.) 

"Evans," he introduced himself, before adding shortly. "No one knows their house ahead of time." 

Granger opened her mouth, no doubt to retort that, yes, she knows that, but Evans continued, leaning back into his seat and closing his eyes. "I want to be in Hufflepuff," he said, smile-smirking slightly. 

"Hufflepuff?" Granger seemed momentarily speechless. "Well, that's… I mean… I've been asking around and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledor himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad. Why do you want to be in Hufflepuff? It sounds…" 

For a moment, she glanced around helplessly, not wanting to say what she was thinking. Hufflepuff was, by common consent, a house for anyone who couldn't make it anywhere else. Evans, with his calm disinterest, didn't seem like Hufflepuff material at all… 

The boy in question was smirking fully now, watching Granger with one eye. Neville had a feeling he enjoyed getting that reaction. 

"They're loyal, so they won't rat you out, and they're friendly, but perceptive enough to give you room. Really, sounds like a calm, supportive environment," he concluded, closing both eyes again. 

Automatically, Neville and Granger shared a look of bafflement and something like amusement. There was no way Evans would get into Hufflepuff, whether he wanted to be there or not. As Hermione looked away, obviously trying not to smile, Neville blinked in surprise. For a moment, he'd felt a sense of (dare he say it) camaraderie… 

"What about you?" Hermione asked turning toward him again. 

"I need to get into Gryffindor," Neville replied, his good cheer disappearing. He dropped into a seat one down from Evans and sighed. "My parents were Gryffindors and everyone expects me to be one too. And besides, I'm definitely not cut out for Ravenclaw." 

"Hmph!" Hermione snorted, annoyance in every feature. "Far too many people seem to consider family tradition to be an unchangeable fate. Really, we're perfectly free to do as we wish." She sounded disgusted. Neville cringed slightly. 

Hermione seemed to notice because in the next moment she sighed and sat down opposite him, visibly calmer, but still slightly angry at something. 

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing to follow in your parents' footsteps, or anything like that. I just met some Slytherins-to-be in the other compartment." She scowled, remembering something unpleasant. Neville could imagine; it was pretty obvious that Hermione wasn't from an old wizarding family, and Slytherins were nasty to everyone else. Or so he'd heard. Gran, and many of his other relatives, had been very passionate on the subject of the Serpent House. 

"They're just such prats!" Hermione declared. She was turning slightly red with anger and frustration, hands curling into fists. "I mean, they think they know everything about me just because I'm Muggle-born! I don't want any trouble; I just want to learn!" 

Neville couldn't think of anything to say. For a moment, all three of them were silent. It was Evans who spoke next. 

"If that's so, Gryffindor isn't for you." Both of them looked at him in surprise. Evans shrugged slightly, giving the impression of rolling his eyes at their thick-headedness. "Gryffindors and Slytherins are mortal enemies. They're fighting even here. Also, they have a lot of classes together, I think. If you go to Gryffindor, Slytherins will have one more reason to make your life miserable than if you were in, maybe, Ravenclaw." 

Hermione looked surprised. "Oh, well, I hadn't thought of that…" 

She seemed torn; Neville could understand. Thinking like that seemed almost like letting the Slytherins win. 

Evans, Neville noted suddenly, seemed very observant. And he had never said, if he was Muggle-born or not… 

But the whole argument didn't change anything for Neville himself. He still needed to get into Gryffindor. He'd never be able to face Gran otherwise. 

Abruptly, Hermione stood and nodded to them both. "Well, I think I'll go look around some more, so… good day!" she declared quickly and walked briskly to the door of the compartment. Neville blinked in surprise. Hermione, self-assured and bossy, was beating a hasty retreat. 

Neville sighed quietly. She was probably embarrassed at having been so open with two strangers. He was embarrassed too, actually… 

Just outside the door, there were sounds of something that wasn't quite an accident as Hermione barely dodged a short witch with a cart full of snacks. A moment later, the witch looked into their compartment, but both boys refused anything. 

Even before she left, Evans had returned to the window, giving Neville a goof view of his profile. The other boy had vivid green eyes, he noted. The one visible eye turned on his lazily, and Neville realized he had been staring. He turned away, blushing. 

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It was mid-afternoon by the time anyone else invaded their compartment. Neville had, of course, known that eventually someone would come looking for him. But he still wished the silence had lasted until the end of the trip. Evans wasn't nice (he hadn't spoken to Neville after Hermione had left), but he wasn't like all the others either. 

But, at around four o'clock, the compartment door slid open sharply, and a pale boy strode in, followed by two… goons. 

"So, is it true?" he asked, looking sharply at Neville. His eyes were silver. Not blue at all. "Is it true that Neville Longbottom is here? That's you, isn't it?" He smirked maliciously, looking Neville up and down. 

Neville swallowed nervously and flushed. 

"I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," he declared. Gran had said quite a bit on the subject of the Malfoys. None of it had been good. "You-" 

Whatever Malfoy had been planning to say (and it wouldn't have been anything nice, judging by his expression) was cut off as the compartment door opened yet again. Three more boys entered, all with bright red hair. Two of them looked exactly alike, Neville noticed with surprise. 

For a moment, all six stood motionless, assessing the situation. The tension doubled with every second. Abruptly, Malfoy sneered again. 

"Well, if it isn't the Weasleys. Come to gawk at your precious savior?" he jeered, but his face seemed even more pale than before. Neville could help but notice that the Weasley twins were both older and bigger than Malfoy's goons. 

"Well, if it isn't the Malfoy brat," one of the twins replied in an equally acidic voice. "Come to suck up to your betters?" 

Malfoy tinged an interesting shade of pink, his hands clenching into fists. "You… What would you know, Mud-blood lovers?" He hissed. 

"Hell of a lot more than a spoiled Deatheater brat like you!" 

Malfoy had moved back, behind his two goons, while the Weasley twins moved forward, in front of their younger brother. Neville cringed in his seat. It didn't take a seer to know that violence was about to erupt. One seat down, Evans looked annoyed, unnoticed by the others. 

Abruptly, the door slid open yet again. The Weasleys, as one, turned to look behind them. Malfoy's goons, sensing weakness, launched forward and prepared to strike. Surprisingly, it was Malfoy who stopped them, with a short command. 

The reason became clear as a tall red-head with horn-rimmed classes entered the compartment, the prefect badge on his chest gleaming brightly. He frowned, taking in the situation. 

"What exactly is going on here?" he asked. "Fighting is against the rules." 

"Nothing at all," Malfoy replied, an ugly look passing across his face. "We were just leaving. Crabbe, Goyle, let's go!" He sneered at everyone in turn as he passed them, blinking once in surprise as he noticed Evans for the first time. 

Once Malfoy had slammed the compartment door shut behind him, the prefect turned on the Weasleys, his expression darkly disapproving. 

"What exactly were you thinking, getting into a fight before we even arrived at the school? Mom would be furious if she found out! And what kind of example are you setting for Ron?" he asked, gesturing toward the youngest red-head. 

'Ron' scowled and protested, "Hey! I'm right here you know!" 

The twins smirked and shrugged, looking completely unrepentant. The prefect scowled at them over his glasses before turning away sharply and walking away. The twins shared a victorious grin. 

Neville swallowed nervously as they slowly turned to look at him. 

"So…" one began. 

"You're Neville Longbottom," the other continued. 

"Sorry you had to suffer through that…" 

"Slytherins are all the same…" 

"By the way, we're Fred…" 

"And George Weasley." 

Fred blinked and gestured toward the younger red-head, 'Ron.' "Oh, and this is our younger brother Ron." 

"Ikkle Ronnie-kins is starting Hogwarts this year." 

"So be nice to him, hm?" 

"And don't worry about Malfoy. He's all talk," George supplied, grinning viciously. 

Neville nodded dumbly. 

"Now, if you'll excuse us, Lee has a tarantula in the third compartment, so we're off." 

"Take care, Ronnie!" 

Silence returned and made itself comfortable as the door slid shut behind the twins. Evans had returned to the window, Neville couldn't muster up the courage to look up from the floor (How was he ever going to get into Gryffindor?), and Weasley was glancing around the compartment nervously. 

Finally, the red-head seemed to steel himself. 

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, waving toward the seat Hermione had vacated earlier in the afternoon, the one opposite Neville. The other boy shook his head and watched wearily as Weasley sat down. 

"So…" Weasley tried again, "What house do you think you're going to be in?" 

Neville was certain he saw Evans stiffen and almost certain he heard the other boy snicker. Trying not to smile, since Ron would probably take it the wrong way, he replied, "I don't know but I really want to get into Gryffindor." 

"Really? Me too. Mom and Dad were Gryffindors, and all my brothers were there too. I don't know what they'll say if I don't get in," Ron muttered. 

Neville felt a surge of sympathy for him. There was a feeling he knew all too well. Maybe he and Ron could… 

"So, how many brothers do you have? Just Fred and George?" he asked. 

"No, five in all. You saw Percy. He's the Gryffindor prefect this year. And Bill and Charlie already graduated. Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was Captain of the Quidditch team." Ron was looking decidedly gloomy now. Neville winced. He remembered now what his grandmother had said about the Weasleys. Up-standing wizarding family, plenty of accomplished members, almost no money and little respect. Ron, in his own way, also had a lot to live up to. 

"That's…" Neville couldn't think of anything appropriate. Instead, he settled for, "I'm an only child. Gran raised me after… you know… I hope I do alright at Hogwarts. Gran was so worried about me that she got me an owl. It flew ahead though…" His grandmother had been afraid Neville would loose it or kill it if he took it with him on the train. "Do you have a familiar?" 

"Yeah, my brother's old rat." Ron scowled and pulled out a scruffy-looking fur ball out of his pocket. It was sleeping. "His name's Scrabbers and he's useless." 

"Ah, well, what about you, Evans?" Neville asked. 

The dark-haired boy gave him a side-long look (reprimanding somehow) and replied, "An owl. The most practical." He turned back to the window. 

Ron looked slightly offended by his obvious disinterest. 

"Well, so, what's it like, having five brothers?" Neville asked quickly, before Ron could do anything he would regret. Evans seemed like someone you didn't cross. 

"Horrible!" Ron declared. "There was this one time when Bill…" 

There were a lot of "one time"s in Ron's life, full of ridiculous pranks and accidents. Neville smiled somewhat sadly, listening to the other boy talk. It sounded so nice to have a real family… 

But then, Ron was asking about him and his life, and Neville found himself relating "that one time when Great Uncle Algie…" 

It felt nice, to talk to someone like that. 

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Neville felt his nervousness return quickly as a voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately." 

The last part was actually good news because Neville didn't want to go back to where he had left his luggage. But now that they were arriving, he'd have to face the rest of the world again. Looking around the compartment, he sighed. 

He and Ron had chatted about nonsense for most of the trip, until Hermione returned. She and the red-head instantly disliked each other, and had been arguing like cats and dogs for the rest of the trip. Evans hadn't spoken again and as he now stood and headed to the door, Neville noted that he seemed tense and almost annoyed, like his patience had been mostly worn away. 

Evans didn't seem to like the Gryffindor boldness and good cheer much. 

Outside in the corridor, everyone was too busy pushing and showing to pay much attention to him or his friends-of-sorts. Still, Neville's stomach lurched with nerves. Ron looked pale under his freckles, and Hermione was constantly pulling at a strand of her. Evans had disappeared in the crowd. 

The train slowed and finally stopped. Te great mass of students rushed out through the door, and moved quickly across the tiny, dark platform. Looking around nervously and shivering in the cold night air, Neville wondered where to go. Then, a lamp came bobbing over the head of the students, and a booming voice shouted, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" 

A big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads, and seeing no other choice, Neville made his way toward the giant man. 

"C'mon, follow me! Any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!" 

Slipping and stumbling, they followed the giant down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Neville thought there must be thick trees there. 

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," the giant called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here." 

There was a loud "Oh!" 

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. 

"No more'n four to a boat!" the giant called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Neville and Ron dragged Hermione with them as she stared at the castle and recited what sounded like facts. As the three of them stumbled in, Evans silently and gracefully settled into the last seat. He seemed completely at ease in the near-darkness. 

"Everyone in?" shouted the giant, who had a boat to himself. "Right then – forward!" 

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. Only Hermione whispered, "A hundred and forty-two stair cases…" She seemed in shock. The castle towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood. 

"Heads down!" yelled the giant as the first boats reached the cliff; the all bent their head and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor. 

Neville tumbled out of the boat, feeling seasick. Ron looked about as well as Neville felt, the green tinge of his skin at odds with his red hair. Hermione stumbled slightly as she stepped out onto rocks and pebbles, still looking around dazedly. Evans was looking around as well, green eyes sweeping everything in a calm, calculated way. Everything else about him, Neville noted in a moment of lucidity, seemed ready to meld into the shadows. 

But then there was no more time to think as they clambered up a passage in the rock after the giant's bobbing lantern, coming at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. 

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door. Giving them one last look, the giant raised a fist and knocked three times on the castle door. 

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a stern face and square glasses. Neville recognized her at once. This was Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and Gryffindor Head of House. Gran had told him a lot about her, specifically telling him not to cross her. 

While he had been thinking, and worrying, the giant and Professor McGonagall had exchanged a few words. As she pulled the door open wide, Ron shook Neville slightly and dragged him forward with the rest of the first years. The entrance hall was huge, the stone walls lit with flaming torches, the ceiling too high to make out, a magnificent marble staircase facing them leading to the upper floors. 

Hermione was muttering statistics again (Neville thought that this might actually be a nervous habit) as they followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Neville could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right, but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously. 

Professor McGonagall gave a short speech, and Neville found himself remembering Evans's words. "Your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts" made it sound so much more important… Not just because of others, but because of himself… 

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting," Professor McGonagall concluded. Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which had gotten messed up after the boat ride, and on Evans's unkempt hair which hung in uneven strands, getting into his eyes, covering his ears and don his neck, poised to begin conquest of his back, as if it hadn't been properly cut in a few months. 

As Professor McGonagall left the chamber, Neville tugged desperately at his cloak, trying to straighten it. The cloak, following the ancient laws of the world, only got more tangled. Without really looking at either him or his cloak, Hermione gently pried his hands from the fabric and deftly smoothed everything into place. Her lips were moving soundlessly and her eyes had a glazed look, but now she seemed to be reciting spells instead of facts. 

Neville's heart was beating erratically now, as if it had lost its rhythm. In a few minutes, in front of the whole school… His House would be determined and if it wasn't Gryffindor… His eyes were fixed on the door, knowing that the moment he blinked, Professor McGonagall would stride in and lead him to his doom. 

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air – several people behind him screamed. 

Turning around in spite of himself, Neville saw that the commotion was just a few ghosts. The tension seemed to drain out of him, leaving him cold and weak. He turned back to the door slowly. 

Surely enough, Professor McGonagall had come back. 

"Move along now," she said in a sharp voice. "That Sorting Ceremony is about to start. Now, form a line and follow me." 

Feeling like he was about to faint, Neville got into line between Ron and Evans, with Hermione behind the brunette. They walked out of the chamber, back across the hall and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall. 

The Great Hall was incredible. All his relatives had refused to talk about it, saying that he had to see it himself, and now Neville understood why. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over the four house tables. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up there, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. 

Mostly to avoid all the staring eyes, Neville looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He could just make out Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_." 

Next to him, Evans let out a shaky breath that sounded almost like a chuckle. "Hell of a sky-light," he murmured in reply. 

Neville didn't know what that meant, but Hermione obviously did as she smiled shakily and took a deep breath. 

Professor McGonagall appeared again, silently placing a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. For a few seconds, there was complete silence as all eyes were riveted to the hat. Then it twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing. 

Neville felt oddly dazed as the hat sang, the hall burst into applause, Ron elbowed him and said something, and Professor McGonagall stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. Only as the teacher began to call names did he finally snap back into reality. 

This was the end, he thought. 

"Abbot, Hannah" was the beginning of the end. She and "Bones, Susan" were Hufflepuffs, his future housemates. "Boot, Terry" and "Brocklehurst, Mandy" were Ravenclaws, though. Maybe they would be Hermione's friends. "Brown, Lavender" had his envy. "Bulstrode, Millicent" had his pity. 

And it was… 

"Evans, Harry!" 

Evans moved forward with a calm, measured stride. Every movement seemed completely controlled and oddly rigid, as he sat on the stool and placed the hat over his dark hair. There was an odd tension behind the mostly-complete line of first years and in Professor McGonagall, as if they had a special interest in where Evans would end up. 

There was long moment of silence. This was what Neville was afraid of. What if the Sorting Hat couldn't decide at all? What if it just left you there? 

And then, it shouted, "SLYTHERIN!" 

Funny, the silence didn't seem ready to leave just yet. Everyone stared, and Evans radiated surprise. Next to Neville, just one empty space over, Hermione covered her mouth with one hand. 

Evans stood with the same sort of rigidity and returned the hat to the stool. At the same time, the teachers began to clap, as if remembering where they were. The Slytherins sounded less than enthusiastic at their newest addition, and Neville felt a surge of sympathy for Evans. 

His wish… 

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!" Professor McGonagall called. 

The Hat didn't pause this time. "HUFFLEPUFF!" 

Another name and then, "Granger, Hermione!" 

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat on her head. Her hands were shaking. The hat seemed the debate. 

Then, "RAVENCLAW!" 

Hermione didn't seem disappointed. 

There were a few more names, but Neville wasn't listening. He almost missed it when Professor McGonagall called, "Longbottom, Neville!" Ron shoved him forward, and he stumbled once before tripping. The hall paused in silence before erupting into laughter. Neville flushed and crammed the hat onto his head. 

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Where shall I put you? A thirst to prove yourself, but so much loyalty. And quite a bit of courage, when it counts…" 

Neville gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Gryffindor, I need to be in Gryffindor. 

"Gryffindor, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? Those Gryffindors can overwhelming, leading you down a path you wouldn't chose yourself… Well, if you're sure, then it'll be GRYFFINDOR!" 

Neville heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He stood and took a hurried step toward the wildly-cheering table before realizing the hat was still on his head. Blushing, he pulled it off and passed it to "MacDougal, Morag." 

Amid the wild cheering, hand-shaking and back-thumping, Neville finally managed to sit down at the Gryffindor table and, after taking a few deep breaths, looked back. He could see the teachers now and mentally counted them off. They were just as Gran had described, except a nervous young man in a large purple turban. 

In the meantime, Malfoy had been sorted, into Slytherin of course. 

When "Thomas, Dean" sat a few seats down from Neville, he noticed that there were only three people left to be sorted. "Turpin, Lisa" became a Ravenclaw, and then it was Ron's turn. 

The Sorting Hat didn't think long at all. 

As Ron collapsed into the chair next to Neville, "Zabini, Blaise" was made a Slytherin. The Sorting Ceremony over, Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away. 

The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, got to his feet and beamed at the students, his arms pen wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there. 

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" 

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Hermione stared at the Headmaster (Professor Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards) and privately thought he was at least a bit mad. 

Then again, a full feast suddenly appearing on previously empty plates wasn't exactly sane either. 

Looking around the Ravenclaw table, she could see that several other first years were just as stunned as she was. They were Muggle-born as well. Ravenclaw seemed to have quite a few of them. Really, she wasn't disappointed to be in this house. 

Next to her, a pretty, blonde girl (prefect, according to her badge) smiled and offered Hermione some potatoes. 

"Welcome to Ravenclaw. I'm Penelope Clearwater. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask me," she added. 

Hermione nodded and thanked her, both for the potatoes and the welcome. 

Over the clatter of forks and knives, the quiet murmur of voice drifted across the table. Halfway through dessert, Hermione found herself telling Terry Boot, who was sitting on her other side, that she was very excited to start lessons. Penelope smiled and told her that everyone here was. 

Ravenclaws, she explained, didn't feel the need to expect anything from their housemates. If you were sorted into Rovenna's house, you would excel in classes without being 'encouraged" or threatened. You would not be ridiculed either, and your housemates would always be willing to help. Hufflepuffs were not the only loyal ones, after all. 

Hermione smiled again as dessert began to disappear (how did it do that?), then glanced at the Slytherin table. It took her a moment to find Evans, who seemed to have a talent for making himself inconspicuous. His housemates were ignoring him, she could tell, probably unsure of how to react. How long had it been since a Muggle-born had been sorted into Slytherin? (Because she was sure Evans hadn't been raised by wizards.) 

Hermione wasn't sure. It was a fact that _Hogwarts, A History_ hadn't mentioned. The Slytherin house, as far as she could tell, was Hogwarts's private embarrassment. They couldn't do anything about it (many of the oldest wizarding families were Slytherin through and through) but they didn't want to acknowledge what it had become either. 

Looking at Evans, after spending a few more moments looking for him, Hermione felt a sense of apprehension. 

Soon, she had a feeling, they would all be looking back wistfully at the time when the Slytherins had simply ignored him. 

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5,925 words. 

Chapter One complete! 

I've been following Harry Potter for a while now, and reading fan fiction sporadically, but now I've pulled myself together and started my own story! However, a few things are still uncertain. Like… Does Neville have a scar? I haven't actually decided. Everyone recognizes him, but there's no mention of whether or not he has a scar. What do you think? It feels really odd calling him the Boy-Who-Lived. 

Also, I'm not too happy with the train ride. (Which is, in fact, most of the chapter…) It seems so tacky. I don't want to sink completely into clichés. 

And I won't! Harry isn't going to be a good little Slytherin! I solemnly swear! Also, however, he won't be taking the spotlight too often. Most of the time we'll see him through the eyes of other characters. 

It'll take a while for the relationships between the characters to solidify, but the major ones will be between Neville, Harry, Hermione and a bit of Ron. Ron isn't going to simply become Neville's best friend though. They're getting along now, but later… 

Anyway, I would really appreciate some feedback. Are the sentences too short, too long? Should I use more description? What about the characters? Are they IC or OOC? (Taking into account that this is semi-AU and the characters aren't really themselves…) 

Thank you for sticking with me this far! 


	2. no 2 ways

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I apologize in advance, this chapter is so bad... 

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Harry Potter:  
Ignorance and Apathy   
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Chapter Two: No Two Ways   
Stalker! Friend…

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Hermione was a remarkably rational girl, especially considering her young age. Although raised as a Muggle, she understood from the start that magic was not the be-all and cure-all that some imagined it to be. She understood that the wizarding world was not some fantastic wonderland.

She had understood those things before getting on the Hogwarts Express. And with every day at Hogwarts, she understood them better.

There were problems. Serious problems.

She didn't mind the small things, like how easy it was to get lost in a castle that shifted all the time, or how absolutely everything moved, from the paintings to the suits of armor to chess pieces, or how a Dark Wizard could kill you with one curse.

No, what bothered her was the sense of stagnation that permeated everything old and magic.

Like the Ravenclaw house.

It wasn't that she disliked the Rowena's house. In some ways, things were much better than before. People no longer laughed at her for constantly reading. But maybe that was because they no longer looked at her at all. If the Hufflepuffs were taunted and bullied, the Ravenclaws were simply ignored. Walking in the hallways, she could practically see the other students' eyes slide over her without even noticing her existence.

Even worse, everyone accepted that. The upperclassmen barely spoke to each other outside of "Hello, nice weather, isn't it?" and more often than not couldn't even remember their fellow Ravenclaws' names.

To them, there was no point in even trying to live, to have a normal life. They were Ravenclaw, no two ways about it.

An atmosphere of depression and hopelessness constantly hung over the house, and everyone was so accustomed to it that they no longer noticed…

And worst of all, Hermione found herself quickly joining them.

On Wednesday, she woke up at exactly seven o'clock. It took her ten minutes to dress, run a brush through her hair and pack her bag. To a Ravenclaw, ten minutes wasted. Her morning ritual finished, Hermione pulled out a book.

Walking through the common room, out the hidden entrance, and down the corridors to the Great Hall, she didn't once look up from her reading. Hermione had figured out how to get places without getting lost by the end of the first week, an important step for any Ravenclaw because it meant they no longer had to waste time watching where they were going. The morning crowd of students seemed to slip around her, almost as if they existed in they weren't solid. Almost as if she was a ghost.

Walking to the Ravenclaw table, she sat down and mechanically reached for a slice of toast. The same type of food was always on the same plates, so there was no need to really look at what she was getting. And in any case, food was just a necessary inconvenience.

About five minutes later, someone slid into the seat next to her. Without really looking away, Hermione noted two short braids and a face full of freckles. A girl then, one her yearmates.

"Good morning," she offered mechanically.

The other girl – what was her name? – made a vague sound of agreement and continued to read while reaching for a spoon. After a few more moments, it clicked. Turpin, Lisa. Half and half, Muggle father, Ravenclaw mother. You could always tell the people from wizarding families, especially Ravenclaw ones, because they could eat porridge without looking up, a skill Hermione had not yet mastered.

It was kind of pathetic, really, how long it took her to remember Lisa's name even though they slept in the same dormitory every night…

The thought drifted away quickly, leaving only a vague sense of apathy as Hermione finished her toast and got up from the table. She didn't look up from her book until her first class began.

In fact, she took little notice of much of anything outside of her books (she finished the first one between first and second period and began another) and the classes.

Since it was Wednesday, Ravenclaw first years had Herbology with Slytherins before lunch. Hermione ignored them, and they ignored her. They were repotting violet moonweed that day.

Halfway through the lesson, Hermione reached for another pot only to find that someone else had the same idea. Looking up in surprise, she remembered that they were working with partners. She'd completely forgotten about the Slytherin (which was no surprise because they generally left their Ravenclaw partners do all the work).

It took her a moment to find him. Her partner had somehow faded into the background, partially obscured by a large, leafy plant that matched his eyes quite well. It was Evans. Their eyes met for a moment, then both went back to work.

By the end of the lesson, she'd forgotten about Evans again. Probably, she would've just gone on forgetting and living pointlessly, if she hadn't crashed straight into him as they both tried to exit the greenhouse at the same time.

Around them, the Slytherins snickered while the Ravenclaws simply continued on their way.

Evans was on his feet suddenly, in a single smooth motion. He turned, about to walk away, before suddenly stopping and turning back. Grabbing her arm, he pulled Hemione up as well, gave her a curt nod and walked quickly toward the castle.

The Slytherins sneered at him as he passed.

Hermione paused for a moment (her mind was so blank, like she wasn't thinking, but feeling, and she'd forgotten how that felt), before hitching up her robes and running after him.

Herbology was the last class before lunch, but Evans wasn't headed to the Great Hall. She almost missed the point where he turned off the main corridor, into a side passage. Three turns and four staircases later, Evans stopped in front of a painting of a bowl of fruit and reached out to tickle the pear.

It giggled, but Hermione was beyond being surprised. Then, a handle appeared. Evans pulled on it and the painting swung open like a door. He disappeared inside.

Hermione caught the edge of the painting just as it was about to swing shut and peered into the crack. Blinking in surprise, she pulled the entryway open wider, then cautiously entered.

Instantly, she was swarmed by short, stubby creatures in towels with the Hogwarts crest. House elves, she thought faintly.

"Welcome to the Hogwarts' kitchen," Evans remarked, standing to one side and smirking slightly.

One of the house elves approached him, holding a tray on its head. "Your sandwich, young sir!" it squeaked.

Evans took the offered food and, settling cross-legged on the floor, began to eat. When she sat down next to him, he offered her half.

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If asked, Hermione was perfectly willing to blame it on boredom. Classes were hard, she'd say, but there was only so much studying she could do…

Bad excuse maybe, but then again, no one asked.

And that was how Hermione Granger found herself stalking one Harry Evans.

Evans usually ate breakfast in the Great Hall, about half an hour earlier than the rest of the school. Hermione had taken a certain vindictive pleasure in watching him struggled not to fall asleep on his porridge, even as she herself yawned so wide her jaw cracked.

He made himself scarce whenever possible and faded into the background whenever not. Professor Sprout was continually surprised to see him turning in his work because she never noticed him actually being in the class.

In this manner, Evans managed to avoid the Gryffindors, who took almost every opportunity to taunt the Slytherins (who, to be fair, did exactly the same thing). The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws didn't care about some oddball Slytherin to begin with, so the only people who seemed to actually note Evans's existence were Hermione and the Serpents themselves.

And the Serpents did not like what they saw.

True, they did little to show their dislike in public (aside from the constant smirks and sneers), but Evans was in their house, and while he did an admirable job of not using the Slytherin common room (there absolutely no time for him to be in the common room; Hermione would know, since she knew his entire routine), he certainly had to sleep in the dormitory.

Another problem was that, from what she could find out, the Slytherin Head of House was less than sympathetic toward Evans's situation. After a week of poking around, she had shamelessly cornered Neville during Astronomy and dragged the information from him. (He'd stuttered quite a bit. Apparently, the Gryffindor was terrified of the Potions Master.)

The very first Potions class (joint Gryffindor and Slytherin) had started off badly, and then promptly gone from bad to worse.

When Neville had arrived, the Slytherins had already been present, but the teacher had not been in the room. However, Professor Snape had arrived on schedule, in a very impressive manner.

After harassing Neville for a bit and terrorizing the Gryffindors at large, he set them to make a simple potion to cure boils. (Hermione got a headache every time she thought about the way Neville had apparently gone about brewing his potion…) Evans had been paired off with Malfoy, who had sneered but said nothing.

At least, at first he'd said nothing. Then, about half-way through the lesson, Malfoy had started screaming bloody murder. Evans had been about to make a simple, dumb mistake that could have ended in a very large explosion. Professor Snape had looked fit to kill, commit suicide or be committed. He was known for being very biased in the Slytherins' favor and for never taking points from his own house. But, according to Neville, the Potions Master had seemed ready to break that unspoken rule.

Then, after everyone had calmed down and gone back to work, Malfoy had started yelling even louder. Apparently, Evans had been about to make another mistake that could have ended messily.

Then, after everyone had calmed down again, taking a little longer this time, Evans had gone ahead and actually made a mistake. The students had run out of the dungeon screaming.

Evans, Hermione found out after a bit of sneaking and prodding, had detention four nights a week until Halloween. And the school year had just begun.

Frankly, it worried her. His housemates disliked him, his Head of House was distant at best, the other houses were too prejudiced to even notice… Evans was not in a good position at all. But then, he wasn't in her house, she barely knew him, and there was absolutely nothing she could do.

And that was the end of it for quite some time.

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Hagrid had worked as Hogwarts gamekeeper for almost forty years. The half-giant took understandable pride in his knowledge of the grounds because, while the castle was the Headmaster's domain, the lake and the forest and the mountainside were his.

There was a particular charm cast on the grounds that alerted him to any student that came too close to places that were dangerous. Like the Forbidden Forest. When it went off, he wasn't particularly surprised. There was always a first year or two that thought they could prove their "coolness" by sneaking into the forest.

Oddly enough, though, the student didn't go in and simply stopped at the edge of the Forest. As he moved steadily toward the would-be offender, Hagrid could see him (her?) sitting calmly on the damp ground and watching the forest motionlessly.

Hagrid had already thought out the warning he would give the student when the boy turned to look at him with piercing green eyes.

Harry. It was Harry.

Instead of the rebuke he had so carefully planned, what came out of the gamekeeper's mouth was:

"How abou' tea?"

Harry blinked, surprised, and continued to stare wordlessly. Hargid shifted, abruptly realizing how strange that must have sounded. He was supposed to be reprimanding the boy, not inviting him for tea and cookies…

But it was Harry… and he had secretly been looking for a reason to talk to Lily and James's son…

"I got some back in my cabin. Much nicer in there than ou' here, and a nice view of the fores' too…"

After a moment, Harry stood abruptly and looked at Hagrid expectantly. The walk to the cabin was silent, and once inside, Harry settled himself in a chair next to the window, though his attention was now fixed on the gamekeeper.

He had his mother's eyes, Hagrid thought not for the first time. Those same strange eyes. Lily had always been able to stare people into submission, even the normally unflappable James and Sir-

That was enough of that.

Harry was still watching him expectantly.

Pouring hot water into two cups, Hagrid heaved a sigh and began.

"I knew yer parents, yeh know." Harry said nothing, even as something shifted in his expression. "Greates' people I knew, Lily 'n James. Yeh look jus' like James, 'cept yer eyes. Yeh got Lily's eyes."

Harry methodically stirred his tea, no longer looking at Hagrid.

"Did Professor Dumbledore tell yeh? About yer parents…" Honestly, Hagrid wasn't entirely sure how much Harry knew about his parents. The entire situation was so complicated. "They're alive."

Harry set his teaspoon down with a sharp 'clink'.

"I know," he said flatly. "I know they're alive, and I know they were tortured to insanity, and I know they're at Saint Mungo's. I know how to get there, too."

His eyes were cold, just as cold as Malfoy's ice-gray, and the expression was clearly expectant. 'What do you want from me? Why can't you just leave me alone?' they said. Oh, but Lily had never had that expression. Not even Remus had ever been like this… No one had ever looked at Hagrid like that, except maybe Sir-

Hagrid winced.

"Yer parents-"

"I don't care about my parents!" Harry hissed, cutting Hagrid off. "I don't care about _family_!"

Ah. So this was about the Dursleys.

(Hagrid cursed the blasted Muggles in every way he knew and wished them several very painful deaths. Giants could be very creative if "enemies" and "death" were part of the scheme.)

"Yer relatives-"

"My relatives? What about my relatives? They left me at an orphanage _because I was a freak_-"

"Yeh NOT a freak!"

For a moment, the cabin was silent as both of them stared at each other from across the table. They had both stood up, Hagrid realized, at some point during the impromptu shouting match. It was almost comical, really, seeing how much the half-giant towered over the thin, almost delicate first-year. Not that Harry was delicate, really. His glare, leveled at Hagrid moments before, had been frightening…

But Harry wasn't glaring now. His cold, furious expression had crumpled into that almost blank look that had so many emotions warring for dominance that none were really coming through. Confusion, surprise and something else all together made Harry look very young (his age) and childish (he was a child).

Then, abruptly, he snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm freakin' normal," Harry drawled sarcastically and plopped back into his chair.

Hagrid let our his breath heavily and gingerly sat down again. Reaching for the tea pot, he looked across the table at the boy now drinking his lukewarm tea. Oh yes, he was definitely the Marauders' boy, no two ways about it. It was just like talking to Sirius, all anger and pain and so much craving for acceptance…

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A/N:

Ohmygod, whatthefuck, this chapter is so bad. I wanted to establish some basic points (Harry to Hermione, Harry to Hagrid, Harry to the Slytherin house) but it was so freakin' hard… I don't care anymore, please don't hate me. Next chapter is the over-used flying lesson, and it is going to be so much fun.

PS: I can't write Hagrid's accent!


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